I Can't Believe It's Not Shules!
by windscryer
Summary: A late night meeting between Shawn and Juliet ends with an exchange. And the following morning starts with Juliet wanting to kill Shawn.


Jash challenged my Muse. Said she couldn't give me non-Shules fic with the prompts of 'Shawn. Juliet. Juliet's bra.'

I offer exhibit A.

Now, I know, some of you are going to protest that this is Shules, or at the very least, pre-Shules.

Based on the end I disagree on the first one. I can't on the second, but then we never agreed that it couldn't be _pre_-Shules. So if it's even remotely Shulesish, it's definitely _pre-_Shules.

And no, this isn't AU. I firmly believe that this could have happened within the canon universe. You can PM me if you'd like me to explain how. :D

And no, I don't own them. There'd be nothing _pre_ about the Shules then. :D

* * *

James Bond had nothing on Shawn Spencer.

Which was pathetic, really, since Shawn was only twelve.

But he was winning the 'unofficial' Camp Runamuck scavenger hunt without breaking a sweat, so really, what other conclusion could be logically drawn?

He was only one item away from glory and a fifty dollar shopping spree in Peter Brickley's black market candy stash. Ah yes, by morning he'd be puking up Milky Ways and NutterButters with relish.

As he eyed the lights of Camp Gigglefest—okay that wasn't the actual name, but it was a _lot_ more appropriate than Camp_-_

The sound of rustling in the bushes to Shawn's side made him freeze, then drop to the forest floor.

He hoped it wasn't a raccoon. Please don't let it be a raccoon!

Eyes squeezed shut, mouth moving in silent prayers that it be anything but a raccoon, Shawn waited for his fate.

The whole forest went silent.

"Who's out there?"

Shawn's head shot up when he realized that not only was it _not_ a raccoon, it was a girl.

This could go very badly.

Or . . .

He stood up.

She gasped, but didn't scream.

They stared at each other in silence for a few moments.

"What are you doing out here?" they both asked.

She rolled her eyes even as he smirked.

"Are you lost?" he asked.

She glared at him, a fact that was quite visible in the dark of the night only because they happened to be standing in a pool of moonlight.

"No, I am not _lost_. I'm a girl scout. We don't get _lost_."

Shawn bobbed his head to the side in a non-committal way.

"So, what are you doing out here in the woods then?"

Her eyes slid to the side briefly as her arms came up to cross over her chest. "Taking a walk. How about you? Are _you_ lost?"

Shawn snorted. "Please. With the lights of both camps visible from here? How exactly would I get lost?"

She arched an eyebrow, slinging her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "Well you seemed to think _I_ was capable of it."

"Fair enough. It was kind of a dumb question." He gave her another look over and shrugged one shoulder. "But really what was I supposed to think? You're out here in the woods, with a flashlight that is either broken or has dead batteries, in the middle of the night, and you're headed for the _boys_ side of the lake. That either means you're lost or . . ."

"Or what?" she asked, her expression still a bit hostile—or at least somewhat nervous—but her tone genuinely curious.

"Or you're out here for the same reason I am."

"Which is?"

"Scavenger hunt."

"You're doing a scavenger hunt at midnight? In the woods? By yourself?"

Shawn grinned—the grin that always made Gus remind him that his dad was a cop and for some things minors could be tried as adults—and said, "Well, I'd have to say it's not so far-fetched. After all, it _is_ the reason you're here."

"I . . ." She looked away again and Shawn was tempted to look and see if she had a friend hiding in the bushes over there. He was pretty sure it was just that he'd guessed correctly, since she was also shifting her weight ever so subtly back and forth.

"So what do you need?" he asked.

"What?"

"I said, what do you need? You were supposed to steal something from the boys camp, right?"

"I . . ."

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Look, there's no use denying it. What is it? Maybe I can help you out."

"And why, exactly, would you do that?"

"Because I'm a nice guy?"

She snorted. "Yeah, right. What are you supposed to get?"

He shrugged. "Something from your side of the lake."

"Anything in particular?" she asked, her tone still derisive.

"Well . . it has to be something to prove I went over there. Something I couldn't get from _my_ camp."

"Nothing in particular, like, say . . . a pair of panties?" she asked with another roll of her eyes.

Shawn considered that. "That would do it," he agreed, and her arms dropped to her side as her face screwed up in preparation for tearing him apart. "But, it doesn't have to be that." He shrugged again. "One of your necklace thingies would be just as good."

She looked down at her necklace, the one they'd made from a slice of a tree branch, painted with acrylics in crafts yesterday. Picking it up from where it rested against her shirt, she looked up at him from under her dubious eyebrows.

"If I give you my necklace you'll give me something from your camp?"

"Yep."

"Like what?"

"Well, for a necklace . . ." He dug in his pocket. "I could give you this."

She looked at his outstretched hand. "What is that?"

"An acorn."

"An acorn," she repeated. "And how will that help me?"

"Well, there are no oak trees on your side of the lake."

She considered the deal.

"I don't know."

"Well, for a necklace, that's all I can give you."

"What if I had something bigger?"

"Like what?"

"Ummm . . ."

He wasn't sure if she was blushing, but her eyes refused to meet his.

"Well?" he asked. "What do you have?"

"The necklace you could make yourself. That's not _really_ proof."

"Mmm. A good point. So?"

"So . . . I could give you . . ."

"Yesss?"

"My bra."

Shawn blinked. "Your what?"

"My bra. No one could doubt you'd been to my camp."

Shawn blinked again. "Your what?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, turning away. "You know what, forget it. I'll find something else."

"No wait!"

She stopped, looking over her shoulder.

"Seriously? You'd give me your bra?"

"Maybe. But you'd have to give me something _really_ good._"_

"Like what?" he asked. "Oh wait!" He dug deeper into his back pocket. "This."

She accepted the offering, turning it over in her hands. Then her eyes widened.

"Is this . . ."

Shawn's grin widened. "Yup."

She looked up at him. A grin split her face. And then she turned and ran off.

"Hey!"

"Just a sec! I'll be right back!"

He watched the tree she'd ducked behind, but it was far too wide for him to see around.

After a moment she reappeared.

"Here you go."

His eyes widened at the sight of her neon pink bra hanging from her fingertip.

"Well?" she asked. "You gonna take it or what?"

"Uh . . ."

With a laugh she tossed it at him forcing him to catch it instinctively.

"Thanks!" she said, holding up her prize. Then she jogged off into the night.

Shawn stood there long after the sounds of her departure had faded.

Then he looked down at the bra he was still clutching to his chest.

"Ahh!" he yelled and jumped back as if it had tried to bite him.

He stared at it for a moment, then began to smile.

He had to admit, she was right. It was _exactly_ what he needed.

He picked it up, gingerly, with only two fingers and the smallest amount of those possible touching the cotton fabric, then started back to camp.

It wasn't until he was back in camp, on the porch of his cabin, that he realized he didn't know her name.

A thought occurred to him and—after a moment to steel his resolve—he acted on it, turning the bra over in search of a name.

J. O'Hara was scrawled next to the tag.

J. O'Hara was pretty awesome. For a girl.

Too bad, really.

Because there was one final part of the ritual that had to be completed, and she was not going to like it.

Ah well. It wasn't like he wanted girls to like him anyway. He shuddered at the thought.

And then headed up the stairs.

He had to show it to witnesses before he finished his task or they'd never believe it was him.

"Hey guys," he said, entering the cabin. "Guess what I got?"

o.o

The next morning both Camp Runamuck and Camp Lotsaspirit were awakened five minutes prior to reveille, not by the recorded bugle that usually woke them, but by the scream that drifted across the lake.

Everyone came running out to see what had happened.

In the middle of the lake, on the flagpole that rose from the diving platform/barbecue deck a new flag was flying. A neon pink, oddly shaped flag.

And though the lake was large enough to keep the two sides mostly apart, it was not nearly large enough for Shawn to miss the look of pure unadulterated hatred that J. O'Hara was shooting him.

"You'll pay for this, you little brat!" she screamed. _"You will pay for this!"_

He grinned and went back to the cabin to collect his winnings.

* * *

Review, please and thanks!


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